Charmed?
by Helle Bright
Summary: Sailor Moon attends a Valentine Day ball hoping to find her true love. What if Darien decides to show up… hmm… instead of Tuxedo Mask? And what if the ball involves ice dancing?
1. Default Chapter

Title: Charmed?  
  
Author: Helene  
  
e-mail: aishiteru@nightmail.ru  
  
Rating: PG13  
  
Teaser: Sailor Moon attends a Valentine Day ball hoping to find her true love. What if Darien decides to show up… hmm… instead of Tuxedo Mask? And what if the ball involves ice dancing?  
  
Timeline: First Season  
  
Disclaimer: I do not claim to be a doctor, or to know how to play piano. Is that not good enough? Well, then, I guess… Sailor-Moon-does-not-belong-to- me! There, happy?  
  
Charmed?  
  
Streaks of peace and quiet were inching their way insistently into the world, vying with the chirping of the birds, rustling of the trees, and crackling of the wood in the Great Fire. Sundry shadows of ochre reigned there, waiting to explode into a vision. Concerns and worries floated away together with interests and affections. Already, she could say that the divination was going to be a success.  
  
"… and so we just have to come to the ball!" – chirped a gleeful voice from the entrance to the room. "Raye, tell them we just have to attend!" – it proceeded with an expert whine, enough to sound pleading without annoying the addressee.  
  
"Meatball Brains, do you realize that you have effectively ruined my vision!" – she yelled, proving to be immune to her friend's expedient.  
  
"But Raye" – sniveled Serena, refusing to acknowledge defeat, - "it is important." Her azure eyes brimmed with tears, and her mouth fashioned a full-fledged pout.  
  
"I thought it was all about some party."  
  
"It is not just a party, it is a huge ball, one that the princess might want to attend, and the Negacreeps may attempt to interrupt, so we just have to be there!"  
  
Raye stood up from her kneeling position in front of the fire, and turned to regard her friend with mocking incredulity. Having been acquainted with Serena for over five weeks, she came to believe that it was against the girl's nature to attend to duty before pleasure, at least in the cases when her personal preferences did not put into jeopardy life and happiness of others.  
  
"Did you just imply that the only reason why you want to go to the ball is performing your duty?" – Raye queried before casting a greeting smile at two newcomers that entered the Great Fire Hall together with the source of her most recent annoyance.  
  
Yet again, she wondered whatever supreme forces and powers had been evoked to bring the three-some together. What could the buoyantly flighty Serena and have in common with the shy and sensible Amy? How come such delicate creatures like the two of them did not feel threatened by the athletic and notoriously aggressive Lita? And what on Earth made the open girls befriend an irritable introvert like Raye herself? Was it just the fact that all of them were Sailor Scouts, who had to protect the world from the Negaverse and find the lunar princess?  
  
Birds of feather should flock together, but it had never been the case with the four of them. They were different to boot, even their appearances conspiring to increase the gaps between them. Serena seemed to be what people refer to as your regular blond, with only twin round twists of hair on her head, sparks of innocent curiosity in her blue eyes, and sincere joy of her smile to distinguish her from the infamous species. A long mane, arranged into a couple of pigtails, 4.9 height, and a slender complexion would have completed the romantic heroine image, had she not managed to spoil it by tripping all over the city.  
  
Amy's dark blue hair, cut above her shoulders, lacked both profusion and length. Her eyes, as big and blue as Serena's, held a look of calm wisdom, and, although she also was slim and rather short, her bearing was competent and confident.  
  
The tall and powerful Lita with her chestnut ponytail and ever-alert gaze of emerald eyes seemed to loom over the pair, her brisk strides making the other girls struggle to keep up with her. Lita's attraction was one of an Amazon, not bearing any semblance to the Victorian beauty of Serena, or the intelligent appeal of Amy.  
  
I must appear a fine compliment to the group, - mulled Raye with a sarcastic smirk, - the fiery eastern type, a perfect package of long ebony hair, huge dark eyes, moderately seductive body, and irritable personality to ward the guys off in spite of everything else. Well, if they can't stand the heat…  
  
"Raye! Hey, Raye, I am talking to you! You can't insult me and then space out without allowing me to argue with you!" This time around Serena's whine was indignant rather than pleading, but it did serve the purpose: Raye's bout of thinking was interrupted, and she fixed Serena with an annoyed glare.  
  
"Why not!" – exploded the diviner. "You do it all the time!"  
  
"Do not!" – came the expected retort.  
  
"Do too!"  
  
"Do not!"  
  
"Do too!"  
  
The tongues were drawn out with professional dexterity. The hands on the hips, the feet firmly on the ground, the mighty opponents waged yet another battle for superiority. They should have known better.  
  
"Stop being petty?" - ordered an exasperated Amy, cutting the confrontation short.  
  
"Sorry Ames," said Serena sheepishly. "You won't hold it against me, and vote against coming to the ball, will you?" – she proceeded anxiously.  
  
"Actually, the idea does have some potential," acknowledged the studious girl. "If the Sailor Scouts sign up for the event, it will be advertised, and the princess will be able to find us. On the other hand, the Negaverse will learn about that too, and they may attempt to trap us along with the civilians."  
  
"What on Earth are you talking about?" – asked Raye irately, having lost the tread of the discussion.  
  
"Sere saw an ad about a skating ball that will take place on Saint Valentine's Day. She believes that it is advisable that we go there in case the Negaverse attacks, or the princess appears."  
  
"Sure, Leets, that is exactly what she has in mind," – spouted Raye. "And she does not think at all about, say, snagging a guy in the process," she concluded arrogantly.  
  
"Hey," – protested Serena, - "and what's wrong with snagging a guy on V- day?"  
  
"Nothing," – said Amy, - "but Sailor Moon should not date a civilian lest he is used by the enemy to blackmail her."  
  
"But Amy, do you expect me not to date at all?" – asked Serena as her features contorted into a mask of sheer horror.  
  
"I expect you not to date in your Sailor Moon guise" – explained Amy, unfazed by her friend's antics.  
  
"Who said anything about dating as Sailor Moon? I'll go as Serena."  
  
"We can't go in our civilian forms. What if there's nowhere to transform?" – reasoned Raye.  
  
"Well, I've somehow managed when I had gone to Dia embassy ball!"  
  
"Serena, we are going there to search for the princess, and if she comes, she should be able to recognize us. Therefore we need to go as the Sailor Scouts," coaxed Amy.  
  
"Yea, spoil my Saint Valentine's Day, why don't you," grumbled Serena, indicating her consent with the plan.  
  
"Perk up, Sere," advised Lita kindly. "Who knows, maybe Tuxedo Mask will show up there. He always comes when you morph into Sailor Moon."  
  
"Do you really think so?" – said Serena hesitantly, her eyes acquiring a dreamy look, her lips opening slightly.  
  
"Why do you think about snagging a guy when you go all mushy over Tuxedo?" – inquired Raye scathingly, ready to commence another fight.  
  
"I want to find my true love," – admitted the small girl earnestly, - "and, although Tuxedo Mask is the most likely candidate, I'm not as sure about it as I would like to be."  
  
*********************************************************************  
  
The fingers drumming on the plastic surface of the counter, the face taut and withdrawn, the back stiff, he was perusing the front page of the recent newspaper, without paying any heed to the usual hustle and bustle of the Crown Arcade. His mind had long since gone into overdrive, and was not coming back anytime soon. Nothing in his past had prepared him for such a blow to his sanity, even finding out that he was Tuxedo Mask having been easier to digest.  
  
What was she thinking, having her picture taken and printed in the paper? Was it a display of vanity, or was she up to something? Were her friends coming to the ball, or was she going stag? Maybe, she arranged for the publicity so that he spot the ad and come to spend the evening with her? What conceit! Sure, his heart always fluttered at a gaze of those two cerulean chasms of hers, and the tingly sensations, which he would get every time he swept her in his arms to whisk her away from peril, did not beseem a professional protector. But he was competent enough not to let his mind dwell on her… for too long.  
  
"Whach'a looking at, Dare?"  
  
"Huh?" Darien snapped out from his inner rant, and looked up at his best friend to see him lean over the counter, peek at the paper, and grin roguishly.  
  
"So you're drooling all over the local superhero," diagnosed Andrew, a blond and green-eyed employee of the establishment. "I would have thought you to be immune to the charms of unattainable celebrities, especially meatball-headed ones."  
  
"She is not meatball-headed" – said Darien vehemently, giving in to the reflex of defending Sailor Moon, and forgetting to deny his attraction to the girl.  
  
"Funny, but I'd say the same about Serena, and their hair looks exactly the same. Come to think of it," – continued Andrew musingly, - "so do their eyes, and their legs."  
  
"Get your mind out of the gutter, Drew," – drawled Darien darkly.  
  
"No, really, if you're so riveted by Sailor Moon, why don't you find Serena as attractive?"  
  
"Because she," – emphasized Darien, - "is the Meatball Head, klutzy, whiny, and immensely annoying."  
  
"She also is kind, caring, blithe, friendly, and available," – pointed out the aproned blond.  
  
The bells above the arcade door chimed as vibrantly as girl laughter that cascaded from the entrance.  
  
"Speak of the devil, she has just waltzed in," marked Darien, his superb hearing having allowed him to distinguish the giggles of one Tsukino Serena, his official girl-enemy, and the subject of his recent conversation with Andrew. "Come on, let me show you just how friendly she is."  
  
*********************************************************************  
  
"I've never seen anyone get so embarrassed!" managed Serena between peals of laughter. "He… He just stood there, gaping as if he had actually asked me about something really personal!"  
  
"Yea," acquiesced Lita, "when you said that telling him your age could mean disclosure of your identity, his face went paper white. I bet he thought that he had warded you off, and that his boss would sack him for scaring you away!"  
  
"And then," an uncharacteristically grinning Amy joined in, "he went red because he did not know what to say! And to think that had we gone as our usual selves we would have felt as bad as the guy."  
  
"Thanks God he was too mortified to ask if we knew how to skate," breathed Raye, "or we would have had to admit that at least one of us is too klutzy to even lace her skates."  
  
"I can too lace my skates," hollered Serena, rising to the bait.  
  
"Oh, yea? Are you speaking from experience?"  
  
"Well, no," conceded the blond with a sign, her shoulders slumping, the wind gone from her sails. "I've never actually skated, but it can't be that hard, can it?"  
  
"I wouldn't even try if I were you, Meatball Head," bellowed a deep voice from behind. A deep male voice, velvety, melodious, and far too familiar.  
  
"That is why you're you, and I am me," informed Serena intelligently.  
  
She turned to face her archenemy, her chin rising and her shoulders squaring, as she went into an attack mode. Her face became taut, and her narrowed eyes shot sparks of sheer rage. Her diminutive hand gripped the back of her chair, as if to keep her from pouncing at him. He might actually have felt disconcerted by the little display had he considered her to essentially be as kind and considerate as Andrew had maintained her to be.  
  
"I would rather be a frog than a crybaby like you," he snarled.  
  
"You already act like one," she parried, "cold, and sleazy, and repelling. Tell me, do you think you will find a princess to kiss you?"  
  
"I am not looking for one in the first place," lied Darien, "whereas you are desperate to find your own knight in shining armor, only all your efforts will be futile, since nobody in his right mind will tolerate you."  
  
"You… You…" Whatever tenacity she had mustered to face him vanished with his last words. However, even though she was no longer able to fight back tears, Serena was determined to tell him exactly what she thought. "You are a cruel person, Darien," she continued, somehow managing not to sniff, and making no move to wipe the moist drops from her cheeks. "I may not have the best grades in the world, and my balance might leave much to be desired, but there are much more important traits, and I have never ever given you a reason to be so cruel. I am so sorry that I have met you, and spoken with you, and bumped into you. Good bye, and good riddance."  
  
Serena dashed by Darien, and flew through the entrance, breathing heavily and still trying to contain the sobs that had built in her throat. Meanwhile, five shell-shocked people recovered enough to glare at her offender.  
  
"You knew that she wishes for love and romance, you knew how much mean to her, and yet you go and stomp on her most sacred dreams and feelings. You had dragged me over there to prove that Serena is unfriendly, and annoying, and what I've witnessed was you provoking and discouraging the poor thing!" roared Andrew. "If I were you I would have run after her and apologized, do you hear me?"  
  
"What? Did you not hear her tag me a frog, and declare to the world that I am unworthy of love? My only fault is giving as good as I've gotten."  
  
"You are not a teenage girl," stated an incensed Raye, "and you were the one to start this stupid argument in the first place. I'll go to talk to her," she told her friends, moving to leave the booth.  
  
"Wait, we're coming with you," said the girls.  
  
"Would you tell her that I didn't mean to be so harsh?" offered Darien. His only answer was the usual hustle and bustle of the arcade. "Oh, why do I bother?"  
  
*********************************************************************  
  
Away.  
  
Farther.  
  
Faster.  
  
No reason why, no matter where.  
  
No such luck.  
  
No.  
  
"I just want to be alone right now. Please, Raye…"  
  
Her voice sounded foreign. Dull, subdued, low, it had to belong to a grieving individual, broken, depressed, and beyond consolation. It was beseeming that she should feel that way. After all, she had been deprived of all her illusions, and her dreams had been cruelly dispelled. She had a right to be the way she was, she thought, trying to tear her wrist from her friend's grasp.  
  
"You do not belong alone, Meatball Head," informed Raye earnestly. "You belong with your friends, and your crushes, or Luna and your family."  
  
"And with your true love, when you have finally found him," reminded Amy.  
  
"Like he is going to want me with him," she whimpered, tugging at the wrist again. "Darien was right, I'm a klutz, and a ditz, and there's no reason why I should even go to that skating ball, except for helping you find the princess."  
  
Serena stood with her back to them, her arms limp, her chin touching her collarbone. They went round, and gasped at her tearful eyes, wet and puffy cheeks, red nose, and bitten lips.  
  
"He was wrong, Serena. He is bitter, and proud, and he wanted to hurt you. But he was wrong. All the guys in that rink will fall for you, and you should be aware of that, unless you there are meatballs inside your head, as well as on its top."  
  
"They will fall for Sailor Moon, the glamorous super-hero, Raye," said Serena with a pitiful sniff, "and when they get to know me…"  
  
"They will fall for the beautiful and cheerful girl, who is compassionate enough to risk her life so that they could live in peace," claimed Lita, unwilling to witness another self-berating spree.  
  
"And who wants to meet them enough to brave a skating rink without taking skating lessons," added Amy.  
  
And right then and there the four girls bore witness to a miracle. The twin streams of salty liquid on Serena face turned into rivers, her stance of sorrow became one of sheer horror, and her mouth opened as she wailed.  
  
"Can't a person skate without studying! I hate school!"  
  
"We can morph into Sailor Scouts and go to the rink, if you…" Amy was interrupted as a slim arm shot out towards her and a frail hand held onto her wrist with an iron grip.  
  
"At least she is no longer crying," signed Lita, watching a short girl with a stack of books in her hand being dragged by an even shorter one with flying pigtails.  
  
*********************************************************************  
  
He did not feel bad about it, truly, he did not. His each and every word had been true, and he was under no obligation to conceal his opinions, especially from the girl who had never spared him hers.  
  
As if he needed the princess, he snorted derisively. She was the one to beg for his help, and she was the one who had to promise to reveal his past to him. That was all there was to it. He would help the princess, and the scouts, and go on living a normal life.  
  
He was not in need of a girl to come and change him. And if he were, he could find plenty of beauties, willing to become his one and only. Even the gorgeous Sailor Moon was willing.  
  
He would go to the ball, he decided. Even if it were just to prove the irritating Meatball Head wrong, he would go to the ball, and charm as many single girls as he could.  
  
*********************************************************************  
  
Erm, R&R? 


	2. Default Chapter

Title: Charmed?  
Author: Helene  
e-mail: aishiteru@nightmail.ru  
Rating: PG13  
Teaser: Sailor Moon attends a Valentine Day ball hoping to find her true love.   
What if Darien decides to show up... hmm... instead of Tuxedo Mask? And what   
if the ball involves ice dancing?  
Timeline: First Season  
Disclaimer: I do not claim to be a doctor, or to know how to play piano. Is   
that not good enough? Well, then, I guess... Sailor-Moon-does-not-belong-to-me!   
There, happy?  
  
Chapter II  
  
The rink was swept by a whirl of lavish colors. Rainbow flood-lights stained the   
ice, rays of rotating projectors darted between the dancers, and the air itself   
exuded an almost tangible happiness. Everybody was feeling it, whether they were   
languorously circling, sophisticatedly twirling, or jumping valorously about the   
ice.   
  
That is, everybody who had not come equipped with a strong sense of purpose and   
sound will, which were to ensure that they approached their target and induced her   
to dance with them. That species, represented solely by the remarkable Darien   
Shields, ignored the ethereal properties of his surroundings in favor of tying his   
laces and observing the skaters' movements.   
  
They were quite different from the movements of walking, he realized, and the   
process of mastering the skill would undoubtedly prove painful. With a sigh he   
stood up from the bench, and wobbled to the ice. A step onto the slippery surface,   
totter, and Darien found himself nicely balanced.   
  
He was sitting pathetically, propped up by the rink enclosure, and more than slightly   
dazed. Giving a pitiful groan, he bunched up his legs, and attempted rising to his   
feet. The world tilted, and his previous predicament repeated itself.   
  
Under the grim circumstances, there was only one thing for him to do: try again.   
Which he promptly did, again, again, again, and again, until he finally realized   
that he needed to lean against the low wall that circled the ice floor. Still   
supporting himself, Darien endeavored several series of steps, each of which ended   
with inevitable falls. With each series, however, the number of successful steps   
increased, and in half an hour he was able to let go of his anchorage. It was time   
to embark on the mission.  
  
That proved easier thought than done, though. After the welcome ceremony and   
autograph handing, which he had haplessly missed, the chit had managed to mingle   
with the colorful crowd, miraculously escaping the attentions of fawning fans. He   
knew that the heroine was there; he did not have to morph into his celebrated   
counterpart to sense that. Lamentably, even Tuxedo Mask wouldn't have helped him   
to spot the girl.  
  
In fifteen minutes, his neck grew uncomfortably stiff from turning and bending,   
and extreme alertness made his eyes smart. Darien skidded to a stop, and closed   
his lids to give rest to the tired organs. It hardly was a sensible thing for   
such an inexperienced skater to do: a light shove from a passerby, and the   
unfortunate sportsmen-wannabe was on the ice.   
  
He looked up to glare at the savage, but the sight that greeted him took away his   
breath, melted his heart, and scattered his thoughts, which, mind you, was not an   
easy task to accomplish. A short-skirted angel with two golden balls instead of a   
halo was gliding elegantly towards him, the triumphant smile on her face and her   
bright blue irises taking his gaze a willing prisoner. Darien recovered from his   
awe and moved to draw nearer to her. All of a sudden, she swayed her exquisite   
head and caught the sight of his face.  
  
The next item to sway was the girl's torso. Her arms flailed, her head swiveled,   
and she was perilously close to hitting the ground, when two pairs of hands grabbed   
her from behind, somehow keeping her on her feet.  
  
"What is it now," queried Sailor Mars, shifting to take Sailor Moon's hand. "Last   
ten times you were able to stop on your own, so don't tell me that was not deliberate!   
Do you crave attention so much as to risk Mercury having to use her fog again?"  
  
That explained the miraculous escape, mused Darien, watching the wide-eyed blond   
trying to regain her self-control.  
  
"Yea, you should have been more careful, Moon," assented Jupiter, releasing her hold   
of her leader's waist. "I mean, you seemed to have learned not to move briskly on the   
ice like yesterday."  
  
The last member of the team was coming closer to the trio with a stern mien that   
made him remember his duties as Sailor Moon's protector, and he skated towards the   
group.  
  
"May I offer my services as a mediator between you and the Scouts, Sailor Moon?" he   
asked smoothly, having opted for the direct approach. "I would be very happy to be   
of any assistance to such a lovely lady."  
  
The Scouts went silent, disbelief written across their faces clearer than any   
writing on any wall. Their widened eyes, gaping mouths, and the rest of the obligatorily   
mentioned symptoms of shock would have tempted him to say something not entirely   
flattering if that had not been incongruous with his carefully drawn mission.  
  
"You... You want to help... Her?" managed Sailor Mars, having had the hardest time   
adjusting to the idea.  
"Why do you make it sound so unconceivable?" demanded Darien dryly. "Or is it that   
you deem me unworthy of rendering support to the Champion of Love and Justice?"  
"Pinch me," squeaked a small voice of the aforesaid champion.  
"Why?"  
"Ignore her... young man... mister..."  
"Sir," he supplied helpfully, trying to prevent snorts from escaping his throat.   
Sometimes those girls were a whit too entertaining for their own good, not to mention   
his.  
"Well, sir, do not mind our leader. She is simply stunned to have such a fine young   
man to solicit her attention," continued the warrior of wisdom, more renowned as   
Sailor Mercury.  
"I'm..." began Sailor Moon.  
"Very pleased to meet you," intercepted Mars, surprisingly catching up to the speed   
of the prodigy's thoughts. "I'm sure she would be delighted to also have you escort   
her tonight, won't you?"  
"I..."  
"But of course she would," piped in Jupiter, snatching the hands of her accomplices   
and leading them away. "Have a nice time," she added with a wicked giggle.  
"Maybe that will teach her to finally get along with him," told Mercury. Thankfully,   
the distance between the cunning Scouts and their bewildered victims was too big for   
the pair to catch her words.  
  
*********************************************************************  
  
"What nice weather, don't you think? Not a single rain drop, and not a cloud up   
there," remarked Darien conversationally.  
"Yea."   
  
She silently brooded over her now lost evening, half listening to his fairly   
witty tirade about the irrelevance of that piece of information, and attempting   
to break the ice, although not literally, God forbid. It was unthinkable that   
she should be expected to talk civilly to the person whose condescending attitude   
rendered her seething on a regular basis. But she couldn't very well ditch him,   
and attempt catching up to her so-called friends, could she?  
  
It was Darien's voice that halted her mulling.  
  
"Shall we?" he offered courteously, extending his arm for her to take.  
  
Sailor Moon started, giving a surprised squeal.  
  
"Oh, I'm sorry for interrupting your thoughts."  
"Are you trying to insult me?" she queried, mentally adding a hopeful 'finally'.   
That would mean that he was reverting to his old ways, and that she would be able   
to stomp away.   
"Why, pray tell, would I want to insult such a beautiful girl?"  
"Because I just spaced out, for one."  
"With the great responsibilities you shoulder, I am not at all surprised. But it   
is quiet today, and there is no reason for you to dwell on such unpleasant things,   
so how about putting your thoughts aside and skating?"  
"Are you sure you want to do this? You could be risking your life out there," she   
cautioned both for the sake of giving him the due warning, and as the last resort   
to lose him. "I'm a lousy skater, and you're not so good yourself."  
"If you're willing to risk your life skating with me, then the least I can do is   
risk my life and skate with you," he declared with a flourish. "Do not worry, fair   
lady, I shall not allow any harm to befall you."  
  
Befuddled at the winningly earnest demeanor and sincere compassion in his voice,   
she silently took his hand, and followed his slow pace.  
  
Since when, no, really, SINCE WHEN did the notoriously nonchalant and detached   
Darien bother to appear earnest and compassionate? She could bet even Andrew had   
yet to see that side of his best friend, and that galled her even more than having   
to appreciate tolerable qualities in her abiding adversary. What on Earth could   
have made him so impeccably polite, and, how, for goodness sake, was she going to   
handle such untimely politeness?  
  
When a person is polite towards one, does that always mean that one has to be   
polite in return, even when the person in question has never displayed anything   
but disdain in one's presence? Should one forget about numerous insults, lame jokes,   
and spoiled days just because one was drilled in nice manners by their parents? Was   
walking away from an uncomfortable companion really unacceptable even under such   
grave circumstances that threatened one's sanity?  
  
Not that she was unaware of the fact that Darien did not recognize her in the guise   
of a Sailor Scout, but that did not excuse his being nice to her as Sailor Moon since   
he had never been nice to her as Serena. Not that she wanted him to be nice to her at   
all, or something... No, it was not something like that. It was simply unfair that he   
should be respectful and understanding towards some people, and taunting towards   
others, she decided.  
  
"Penny for your thoughts?"  
"You seem too good to be true," she grumbled, still caught up in the tangle of   
aggravating questions, and yet more aggravating answers.  
"And this displeases you because you're sure that when something seems too good to be   
true, it probably is?" inquired Darien sympathetically. "I know the feeling."  
"Really?"   
  
She would have sooner believed if she were told that Zoicite had joined a nunnery then   
that the incarnation of condescendence in front of her deemed anyone or anything to be   
good.  
  
"Of course. For instance, when I read the descriptions of the classes at the university   
some of them sound so appealing, and when I take them they turn out to be boring."  
  
Of course, she imitated in her head, giving a small smirk. Of course he had to brag   
about his being a student.   
  
"I see."  
"But some of the classes are very interesting," he continued, "and not at all   
disappointing."  
"Actually, I don't like studying," she admitted almost proudly. Sailor Moon was not   
perfect, and those who assumed she was had another thing coming. "Maybe you'd rather   
speak with Sailor Mercury? She is the most studious of the group."  
"You're the one I'd like to spend the evening with, not Mercury. I just meant to show   
you that at times we need to give things, and people, a chance, and get to know them   
before branding them 'too good to be true'."  
"I see."  
  
I see. The words had a bland after-sound, and one could never be sure whether they were   
to indicate agreement or annoyance. Although, judging by the fact that they were usually   
resorted to by teachers and employers obliged to somehow react to extravagant excuses   
and tedious theses, the latter meaning was more likely.  
  
If his plan was going anywhere, he realized, it was not heading in the right direction.   
It also seemed to backfire, since, instead of making him feel needed and appreciated,   
she was either ignoring, or deliberately challenging and spurning him. Could it be   
something about him that affected the caring and considerate girl that way in spite of   
the effort he made to produce a good impression? Was the Meatball Head right to claim   
that his personality would ward off even the princess?  
  
A tugging sensation on his arm alerted him to the fact that Sailor Moon had stopped,   
and moved towards the wall. Turning to look at the heroin, he found her staring at him   
with a pondering expression. And, although he liked that one better then the sulking   
pout she had donned right after overcoming her cute shock at his appearance, something   
about her slightly narrowed eyes bothered him.  
  
"What is your name?"  
"Darien."  
"So, Darien, do you really believe in giving people a chance?"  
  
There it was, the defiant spark, daring him to answer that he did, and prove a liar. But   
she couldn't possibly know that, could she?  
  
"Well, not always. I have some reservations..."  
"So do I. For one, I do not give a chance to those who would dismiss me if they were to   
meet me as a teenage girl that I am."  
"Well, I'll have you know," he began with forced levity, "that I have a good friend who   
is a teenage girl. You may be acquainted with her, actually, you fought near the Temple   
where she lives."  
"Raye."  
"Exactly." blurted Darien, so gleeful at being able to score a point as to miss her   
growl, "she is training to become a priestess."  
"And if the teenage girl in question is an awkward klutz, and not a priestess-in-training?" she   
demanded vehemently. "If she doesn't get good grades at school, and..."  
"Don't be so hard on yourself," he begged gently, appalled at the anguish in her voice.  
"Why not? You would be," she shouted, tearing her hand away. "You're only nice to me   
because you don't know me, and nothing you can say or do will convince me otherwise."  
  
That said, Sailor Moon started gliding away, not sparing a single glance at Darien.  
  
*********************************************************************  
  
He stood there, confusion and hurt vying for dominance in his soul. Long ago, when he   
had been at the orphanage, and the children refused to socialize with him, he had been   
able to persuade himself that it had been their own loss, and their own fault. When   
Sailor Moon left him, though, his old recipe did not work. How could he blame her for   
assuming something that was probably correct? And how could he maintain that she was   
the one to lose more under the circumstances?  
  
It had to be something about him that had driven all those people away. Raye and Andrew   
were the only ones to stand by him, but Raye did not count because she clearly had a   
crush on him, and Andrew was... Andrew. Being Andrew meant having loads of friends,   
being Darien meant having none, and he had resigned himself to the fact years ago.  
  
Since then he had lived at peace with the world, mindful to guard that painstakingly   
earned peace and prevent others from getting close enough to threaten it. Since then   
only two people had managed to stir him, Serena and Sailor Moon. While Andrew and Raye   
had grown on him bit by bit, the other pair burst into his barely balanced world to   
wreak havoc on his totally unprepared emotions.  
  
Those two were alike, both making him fend off the most irritable doubts as to the   
constants of his life such as good grades, responsibility, self-confidence, and   
competence. Even after his recent humiliation he did not need to focus to recall   
Serena's passionate speech on the importance of other traits, or Sailor Moon's pained   
stance when he had announced his intent to retrieve all the Rainbow Crystals.  
  
He should have realized their similarities long ago, he sighed. And he should have   
been less stubborn and listened to Andrew who had been attempting to make him see   
the similarities. That, of course, would have amounted to the loss of self-sufficiency,   
but that particular value was easily recovered when one lived all alone...   
  
The point was that had he been more aware he would not have endeavored wooing Sailor   
Moon, and found himself perilously close to being self-conscious. That was easily   
cured: a red rose, transformation, and he would have been able to track the offender   
down and sweep her off her feet. Come to think of it, he would also be able to let her   
taste her own medicine, disclosing her prejudiced treatment of Tuxedo Mask. But first   
he had to get away from the rink.  
  
*********************************************************************  
  
She had to get away from the rink. She should not have been there in the first place,   
not as her heroic self that far too many people knew and loved. The princess was obviously   
reluctant to be found, and Tuxedo Mask was not into skating. Either that, or he had spotted   
her with Darien.  
  
Darien. Had he been able to recognize her and the girls, he would have joined Raye in   
her scolding spree. However that could have stung, it would have been better to disregard   
him as the cold and cruel devil, then acknowledge that she was the only one to be   
mistreated by him, and, therefore, it was her own fault that he disliked her. That she   
was more irritating then any other girl her age. That she did not deserve to be liked.  
  
Dejected, she headed towards a rest room to release the transformation. The not-so-alter   
ego was a weight too heavy to bear on Saint Valentine Day.  
  
*********************************************************************  
  
Depressing, ne? It may get better, if I decide to write the sequel, 'if' and 'feedback'   
being the key words.  
Oh, yea, and if you're miraculously still here, please read the latest part of my other  
story, "the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth". I would really appreciate  
some feedback before I get down to finishing the story. 


	3. Default Chapter

Title: Charmed?  
Author: Helene  
e-mail: aishiteru@nightmail.ru  
Rating: PG13  
Teaser: Sailor Moon attends a Valentine Day ball hoping to find her   
true love. What if Darien decides to show up... hmm... instead of   
Tuxedo Mask? And what if the ball involves ice dancing?  
Timeline: First Season  
Disclaimer: I do not claim to be a doctor, or to know how to play piano.   
Is that not good enough? Well, then, I guess... Sailor-Moon-does-not-belong-to-me!   
There, happy?  
AN: took me long enough to get back to this story, didn't it? Umm, sorry?   
Not really I'm not. But please don't hold it against me WHEN you review   
or e-mail, 'K?  
  
Chapter III  
  
Having transformed in an appropriately placed alley right next to the   
skating center, Darien took off to a rooftop, still resolved to inflict   
the due vengeance on his unwary offender. The current plan was to surprise   
her as she left the building, and whisk her away for a serious discussion,   
which, for once, would not deal with their mission.  
  
The Rainbow crystals would just have to wait. The key figure in the   
process of their gathering was growing too cocky for her own sake, and   
who had a better chance to spur her awareness than her loyal champion?  
  
Champion of the champion of love and justice, a weird title, but it was a   
fitting one nonetheless. He would risk anything to keep her safe, even if  
she spurned his attentions, and he'd never require a prize or a reward,   
which made him a real champion, a true knight in shining armor.  
  
A knight whose lady tarried more than one would deem proper, he mulled.   
It had been some twenty minutes since he had last seen her, and the waiting   
was becoming tedious. Could it be that she had elected to stay at the rink?   
After him, nobody had gone out of the door, so she could not have escaped   
as her civilian self. Which had to mean that without Darien by her side Sailor   
Moon was finding the ball much more entertaining, not exactly a comforting   
idea for the one who had attempted to endear himself to the said girl.  
  
He spent another few moments contemplating the possibility of joining her in   
the guise of Tuxedo Mask, his face twisting on it own volition at the comical   
images his cruel brain was supplying him with: the slack jawed Sailor Scouts,   
their entire forms shaking and their arms extended to point at something below   
them; the sniggering skaters, sinking to their knees with side-splitting   
laughter, and, finally, himself in all his glamorous splendor, sprawled on   
the ice with his cape tangled around his neck.  
  
Still, he wouldn't be Darien if he could be scared away by public embarrassment,   
not when a Cause was at stake in any case, and only the divine intervention   
salvaged his impeccable reputation, allowing Tokyo to continue thinking of him   
as a dashing superhero rather than a ridiculous klutz, unable to hold his balance:   
the very moment he bent his knees to dive to the pavement, a small figure darted   
out of the edifice and down the deserted street, twin streams of hair flapping   
behind its back.  
  
Saved by Sailor Moon, he smirked, leaping to the neighboring rooftop to follow   
the heroine. A dramatic entrance was in order, and catching up with her from   
behind was definitely not an option.  
  
*********************************************************************  
  
Yet again she was running away, yet again her faith in herself had been ruthlessly   
shattered, and yet again it was because of him. It was a strange power that he had   
over her, and she finally knew why. Finally, there were no excuses for her to shy   
away from the painful realization, no alleged flaws of his she could shield herself   
with, for she had learned first hand that he could be kind, and gentlemanly, and   
amiable, and, in fact, everything he had never been with her, Serena.  
  
Therefore that was only one explanation, the one she could no longer discard. All   
the time, all those times, his taunts were deliberately aimed at her, because it   
was she who kept annoying him, it was she who was annoying. It was she who didn't   
deserve his consideration, not vice versa. And he was most probably not the only   
person to see her that way. Raye, for one, many of her teachers, and even her own   
mother often seemed to be equally irritated, and the others were just better in   
hiding their true feelings.  
  
How humiliating, and, God, how painful to know that you're worthless even to the   
people you would give up everything for! It felt as if a freezing abyss was looming   
all around her, blocking all warmth or light in any shape or form.  
  
Terrifying.  
  
Dwarfing.  
  
Besetting.  
  
*********************************************************************  
  
The fastest sprints come to a halt, and when the sprinter is heedless of their   
surroundings, the end is more likely to come sooner than later. Pity that the   
heedless sprinters are unaware of this bit of information. Otherwise more of them   
might have reached their destination without mishaps. Maybe schools should introduce   
a subject of heedless sprinting into their curriculum?  
  
Then again, when you're so disheartened that all you want is to run away from   
yourself, you're least inclined to heed the advice of the teachers. You're so   
intent on out-speeding your own brain that you're no longer wary of smashing into   
anything, not even a light-pole, or a passing car.  
  
Fortunately, Serena's sprint was cut short by a much more collision-friendly object.   
It was softer and less angled than most of her crashing counterparts, and, on top of   
all, it had strong arms to clutch at her when she swayed after the impact, and a   
cape to wrap about her shivering form. It also felt familiar, although something   
about the familiarity was somehow out of place.   
  
"Meatball Head?" muttered the object, and she whipped her head up incredulously.   
Either she was seeing things, or hearing things, because her eyes and her ears   
were telling her completely different things.  
"Tuxedo Mask? Did you just call me what I heard you did?" finally managed the   
breathless blond, deciding to trust her eyes on that one.  
"Oh... Sorry... I'm so sorry, miss," stuttered her unsuspecting savior. "It's just   
that... Your hairstyle... I just couldn't help..."  
"It's OK," she said quietly, a small smile tugging at her mouth despite the   
depression. "At least you apologized. Another may have called me more names and yelled   
at me for bashing into him like that."  
"Oh."  
  
Relieved beyond words that his timely, if a bit lame excuse had kept Serena from   
guessing his identity, he was incapable of doing anything except for staring at the   
girl. The wrong girl, his mind reminded, and he wished he could just kick himself.  
  
What were the chances of mistaking the klutz for the superhero? And how was he supposed   
to untangle himself from her now that she was going misty-eyed on her favorite superhero?   
If she only knew who was hidden by the domino mask! She'd certainly remove all his   
posters from her room save the one she'd take to using as a dart target.  
  
"I admire you," he heard her confide, her soft voice and trusting gaze almost breaking   
through his flaring ire. Almost.  
"You do, don't you?"  
"Yes, you could say I'm a great fan."  
"What is your name?"  
"Serena."   
  
The winter twilight did nothing to hide her flattered flush. It could have been so   
easy to be her hero, maybe even easier than Sailor Moon's. And he loathed that. That   
she should be all sugary smiles at a corny get up and a civilly detached demeanor. That   
she should be as shallow as the rest of them.  
  
"Well, Serena," he spat with venom, releasing his hold on her arms, "why do you think I   
care?"  
  
Darien didn't expect the pang of guilt he was dealt when she staggered away, bowing her   
head and raising a trembling hand to scrub at her face. Nor had he anticipated the   
anguish that pierced him at her next words.  
  
"I'm sorry," she sniffled, "I just thought... No, I didn't think... I'm so sorry."  
  
Unable to respond, he stood there, watching her cast a tearful glance at his face and   
start walking away.   
  
It had not been right. To hurt her, crash her naive hope that way, it had not been   
right. That day, it felt horribly wrong. Was it because of her suddenly trusting   
disposition, or maybe because of his own recent experience; maybe because she hadn't   
fought back, but it felt horribly wrong.  
  
But why hadn't she fought back?  
  
Still preoccupied with the question, he rushed after the retreating girl.  
  
"Serena!" he called, "Please, wait! You have to listen to me!"  
  
*********************************************************************  
  
'Please wait! You have to listen to me!' she heard him call urgently. Why? So he could   
scold her more? She didn't need that. After all, the lesson had already been learned,   
and her memories did not need to be reawakened. No, the memories needed to be buried   
as deep as any painful memory could be, locked away and hidden for good.  
  
But first she had to deal with Tuxedo Mask. Escaping him, however appealing, did not   
seem an option, and she paused on the pavement, awaiting whatever reproach he would   
chose to fling at her.  
  
A careful hand landed on her shoulder, turning her to face her greatest fear: his   
wrath.   
  
"Don't," she begged, but the hand persisted, its counterpart finding its way to her   
chin to lift it so that he could look into her eyes. His remained obscured by the   
mask, but for once she couldn't find it in herself to wonder about their color. What   
was the point, anyway? He was never going to like her...  
  
"I'm the one who should be sorry," he said, jolting her out of her misery.  
"What?"  
"I'm the one who should be sorry. I had no right to snap at you back then."  
"It's OK. I know I deserved it, and all..."  
"Deserved it?" he squeaked indignantly, or as indignantly as a surprised squeak could   
be. "By complimenting me?"  
"I know I'm annoying."  
  
'I know I'm annoying. I know I'm annoying.' The woeful words reverberated through the   
vaults of his mind, driving him to desperation. 'Annoying. Annoying.'   
  
"NO!"  
"Tuxedo Mask..."  
  
Her beseeching gaze helped to leash his emotions, which was a good thing considering   
her shocked mien.  
  
"No. You mustn't believe that." Both his hands were now gripping her shoulders. "You   
must never think such things about yourself."  
"It doesn't really matter what I think, does it? It's what the others think that is   
important."   
  
Shrugging in resignation, Serena looked away and made a move to free herself from his   
grasp, but he wouldn't let her.  
  
"Serena, trust me," he implored earnestly, "there's not a single person on this planet   
that is worth dismissing yourself over their opinions. It's your very life that can be   
at stake if you don't believe in yourself. Trust me, I know."  
"Not worth it!" she sobbed with a broken sniffle, agonizing tears finally spilling onto   
her cheeks. "That's exactly how I've been trying to kid myself, but that's just not true!   
Everybody is worth it! Everybody! Even my worst enemy."  
"Everybody?"  
"Yes!"  
"What about me?"  
"Of course you are! You're a hero! You're always there for... Sailor Moon, and other   
people, too."  
  
In spite of the grim subject of their conversation, Tuxedo Mask had to smile at her   
innocent ardor and childlike bumbling. Indeed it was easy to be the Meatball Head's   
hero, but all of a sudden he couldn't find it in himself to mind being her idol. Her   
fierce acceptance of other people, including himself and especially his civilian counterpart,   
made her appear compassionate rather than shallow, and her ready adoration was now somehow   
endearing. Her disconsolate countenance, however, was proving disconcerting, and the last   
objective for the day was designated as uplifting the girl's spirits.  
  
"Well, then," he began with forced lightness, "you'll have to believe that you are a   
sweet person, and that I fail to notice anything annoying about you."  
"You don't count," informed Serena gloomily. "You're a hero. You're not supposed to   
notice bad things about people you protect. Ask anybody else around here, and they'll   
come up with a whole list of my flaws."  
"Of course they will," conceded the caped champion, releasing his hold of her. "But I'm   
sure that if you ask them they will also be more than able to whip up a list of your   
merits. Now, shall I walk you home?"  
  
*********************************************************************  
  
All the four digits of the bedside alarm clock winked mockingly before settling into a   
four-piece set of acid green zeros. The figure under the blankets stirred, emitting a   
frustrated groan and rolling over. The next sound to be produced in the dark room was a   
painful yowl, as a small form shot up from the other end of the bed. The form twisted in   
the air to land near the pillow, adorned with cascading hair.  
  
"What is it this time, Serena?" it howled into the hair.  
"I can't sleep."  
"What do you mean you can't sleep! It usually takes you about a millisecond to start   
snoring away, and now you can't sleep!"  
"Tonight's different."  
  
The hair flew away as its dispirited owner emerged from under the covers, sitting up   
against the headboard and flicking on a reading light that revealed a blond girl and a   
black cat in an exceptionally messy bedroom.  
  
"I met Tuxedo Mask," she confessed, worrying a thumbnail, "and he took me home."  
"What! How could you!"  
"Luna, do you want to wake everybody and get me in trouble?"  
"How could you," continued the cat in a hissing whisper, "show him where you live when   
we are not positive about his being an ally!"  
"He didn't know that I'm Sailor Moon," said Serena, "so I figured it was safe."  
"Oh. Then what was he doing with you?"  
"We crashed on a sidewalk. At first, he was annoyed with me, but then he apologized and   
offered to take me home."  
"So why are you so upset?"  
  
Why was she upset? The question caught her off guard, for she never stopped to analyze   
her emotions that night. There was a nagging anxiety weighing on her heart, and it had   
been there ever since he had cautiously taken her hand and started leading her down the   
street. Their walk had been eerily silent, each seemingly unaware of the other and caught   
up in their own musings. The only words they had exchanged after their initial conversation   
were their quiet goodbyes, and when he had leapt away her anxiety had surged.  
  
What was it about him that had made her so anxious? All his words had been kind and generous,   
or, at least, all his words after his outbreak, which he had apologized for. But what if he   
hadn't meant the apology? What if he just said what any superhero would have been expected   
to say under the circumstances? If his speech was similar to those that he made on battlefield,   
made to help her cope with the situation at hand rather than raise her self esteem? What if he   
had lied?  
  
But he wouldn't lie to her, would he? Would he?  
  
"Luna," she called beseechingly, "do you think he would lie to me?"  
"Who knows," sighed the feline. "We can't really test him, can we, and so far he hasn't   
attempted to convince us of his credibility."  
"Oh."  
  
But I can test him, she thought, chest heaving as she took a determined breath. Tuxedo   
Mask's words could be tested, even if the hero himself could not. One way or another,   
her friends would help her accomplish her goal.  
  
I can and I will - that was what she told herself before turning off the lamp and   
flopping back onto the pillow.  
  
*********************************************************************  
  
One a.m. It was one a.m., for goodness sake, unless his trusty alarm clock was playing a   
sick joke. One a.m., and sleep was still evading him. Tossing, turning, sheep counting,   
and relaxation exercises had proven ineffective in the quest of finding an entrance to   
the craved domain of Morpheus where the princess was undoubtedly waiting to summon him   
again.  
  
Damn the night, damn the rink, and damn the both of them. The two most vexing vixens in   
the city that could not abstain from disrupting his earned peace of mind, leading him to   
doubt his beliefs and loose his self esteem.  
  
Still, they had shed the unwelcome light, and he could no longer stave off the realization   
that there was something effectively not all right with both Tuxedo Mask and Chiba Darien,   
for the latter had managed to alienate the most compassionate super heroine, and the former   
had almost crashed his most faithful fan.  
  
True, he had been trying to prevent his values from crumbling all over his soul and leaving   
it in shambles, but his efforts seemed to succeed in little more than crashing other souls,   
and innocent ones at that, as innocent as he had been before he had been abandoned in the   
orphanage.  
  
It was time to change, he resolved in the darkness of his apartment. It was time to change,   
and if his beliefs needed a little adjusting he would try doing just that. What good were   
they bringing anyway, save the ache of loneliness and the pangs of guilt? And even if they   
were, no belief system, however sophisticated, is worth inflicting genuine pain on the   
innocents.   
  
It was definitely the time to change it.  
  
*********************************************************************  
  
Well, that's it, the third part of 'charmed'. I know what you're gonna say - nobody changes   
that easily, not even a superhero, not even the super Darien. Are you? 


	4. Default Chapter

Title: Charmed?  
Author: Helene  
e-mail: aishiteru@nightmail.ru  
Rating: PG13  
Teaser: Sailor Moon attends a Valentine Day ball hoping to find her   
true love. What if Darien decides to show up... hmm... instead of   
Tuxedo Mask? And what if the ball involves ice dancing?  
Timeline: First Season  
Disclaimer: I do not claim to be a doctor, or to know how to play   
piano. Is that not good enough? Well, then, I guess...   
Sailor-Moon-does-not-belong-to-me! There, happy?  
AN: I'm feeling lonely, forlorn, and forsaken, which is supposed to   
mean that I'm in grave need of some encouragement. A few lines from   
any of you may prove just what the doctor ordered.  
  
Chapter IV  
  
"This is the way we whip up lists, whip up lists, whip up lists..."   
chirped Serena, skipping along her favorite sidewalk. Four more blocks   
to the destination, four more blocks to walk, and then the mission would   
officially be launched.  
"This is the way we whip up lists early in the afternoon," she continued,   
nearly choking on the last word of the custom-mangled nursery rhythm due   
to a bout of joyous giggling.   
  
Her day had gone right the very moment she had whizzed past Miss H and   
flew into the classroom two precious seconds before the muddled teacher.   
The following four periods had not brought any pesky pop-quizzes or   
embarrassing questionings, and when they had finally been over, no detention   
had ensued. But her school achievements were outshone by another wondrous   
fact: both that morning and that afternoon her poor face had been spared  
banging into the walking obstacle, ever present on her way. Which could   
probably be due to the rebuttal Sailor Moon had given him on yesterday Saint   
Valentine's ball, she snorted, interrupting her tune.  
  
One block... Half a block... Quarter a block, and let's hear the door   
squeak its loudest and the door bells chime their merriest for Serena   
Tsukino to welcome in the Crown arcade.  
  
"Hi, Serena."  
"Hello, Andrew."  
"What can I get you this glorious day?"  
"Well, actually, I don't want anything right now. Could we just talk?"  
"Talk?"  
  
Andrew could not believe his own ears. The thought of Serena not blurting   
out her favorite foods at such suggestion had almost short-circuited his   
brain, which went into overload after the initial shock. Why didn't she   
want to talk her problem over a sundae or a milkshake? Hmm... Unless she   
was on a crash diet again, whatever it was it had to be serious.  
  
"Could we?" he heard her entreat and looked up to encounter a solemnly   
earnest gaze that sent a shocking jolt through his system as a horrifying   
idea hit his brain.   
  
Gods, oh no, please, oh God, she was going to declare her undying love,   
and he was absolutely powerless to stop her, and Rita would kill him if   
she ever found out, and his poor heart was going to leave his chest and   
jump up through the roof...  
  
"Serena," started Andrew, deciding to try calm reasoning, "I have Rita   
now, and I love her very much, so I can't possibly reciprocate your   
feelings."  
"What feelings?" she demanded, her forehead scrunching up in puzzlement.  
"The feelings you wanted to talk about, of course. I can't reciprocate   
them."  
"But I didn't want to talk about my feelings."  
  
Half expecting Serena to commence one of her patented wails, he was caught   
completely off guard by her exasperated retort, and, judging by the girl's   
twinkling eyes and smirking mouth, his predicament was more than obvious.  
  
"You didn't?" he echoed, still too fuddled to discuss anything else.  
"Of course not, silly. If I had a crush on you, I'd never have owned up.   
I'd be waiting for you to notice, but I'd never told you myself. It's totally   
against the rules."  
"Oh. Then what did you want to talk about?"  
"I meant to ask, what do you think of me? Truly, I mean."  
  
And the world stopped spinning. Time seemed to freeze, and all the sounds were   
reduced to distant buzzing, as a single thought reverberated through his reeling   
mind: "Why me?" Dizzy and disoriented, Andrew rested his head on the counter   
and let out a pitiful moan.  
  
That was even worse than having her pine for him. Dealing with an infatuation   
was a piece of cake in comparison with muddling through the impromptu 'Truth   
or Dare' game without the 'Dare'. What was he supposed to do, tell her the   
whole truth or break one of the Ten Commandments and condemn his immortal soul   
to the tortures of hell?  
  
"I think you're a very sweet and optimistic girl, and you're pretty, and   
considerate, and you're always there for your friends."  
  
There, it should have been close enough to afford a month long vacation   
in heaven each millennium, he cheered, giving himself a mental pat on the   
back.  
  
"Well, all of these are good things, but how about some flaws?"  
"Flaws?"  
"Yes, flaws," grunted Serena, barely refraining from gritting her   
teeth. "Shortcomings. Weaknesses. Bad points."  
"I know what flaws are. I just don't know what to say."  
"The truth, Andy. I want the truth. I really need to know."  
"Serena, don't you see? I am your friend, so I don't want to talk about your   
bad points, because, as a good friend, I don't see any," he said, giving her   
an encouraging smile and looking her straight in the eye while praying for   
her to understand.  
  
She didn't.  
  
Andrew froze, his smile becoming an appalled grimace as he watched his offbeat   
companion switch to the mode of a crying spell a la Serena. She hopped down from   
her seat to stand in front of him with her hands on her hips, her head thrown   
back, her mouth gaping open, and her lips quivering.  
  
"Why are you lying to me?" she bawled, bluntly disregarding the reverberating   
windows and the wincing customers. "Do you think I'm stupid enough to just   
swallow it up?"  
"Serena, please..."  
"I thought I could count on you! I thought you would be the best one to start   
with!"  
"Serena..."  
"I thought you are my friend!"  
"Sere..."  
"No! Don't even bother!"  
  
Swinging on her heel, the wrathful blond stamped towards the exit, miraculously   
bypassing three wet spots on the floor, a plastic chair with its business suit   
clad occupant, and a certain tall, dark and handsome frog, whose bemused gaze of   
lucid blue followed her until she left the establishment.  
  
*********************************************************************  
  
Serena storming off from the arcade BEFORE their argument? The idea was   
certainly novel, and immensely curious. What else, short of nuclear disaster   
could have chased the Meatball Head away from her favorite hangout? Who else   
could have riled her up like that? One of her friends? A guy?  
  
"Hey Andrew, what's up with the Meatball? Who's beat me to her?"  
"I did," told Andrew wryly.  
"Well, well, well, what do we have here," drawled Darien, taking a seat at the   
counter, "the Champion of Meatball Brains getting a rise out of his fair lady?"  
"Darien, this isn't funny. She's my friend."  
  
The arcade keeper's only answer was an arched brow, but, instead of responding,   
he turned away to compose himself and fix his newly arrived friend a cup of   
coffee. The two remained silent, both not knowing how to broach the subject and   
ostensibly afraid that anything they would say could and would be used against   
them. Of course there was also the matter of human pride, for neither was   
willing to concede defeat by resuming the conversation. Not until there was a   
suitable pretext.  
  
"Andrew, how about another cup?"  
"Coming right up."  
"So what happened with Serena?"  
"I don't want to talk about that."  
"Fine with me," said Darien, seeing his chance to commence his own quest.   
Who needed to be privy to Serena's reaction to Andrew's rejection anyway? "I   
came because I wanted to ask you something."  
  
Andrew's usually healthy complexion turned greenish, his shoulders stiffened,   
his hands gripped the counter, his eyes bulged. Chest was heaving as if he were   
choking, head hung limply above his collarbone; the friendly fellow was the   
very epitome of petrified misery.  
  
"This isn't happening," he mumbled, his voice actually trembling. "Please   
tell me this isn't happening!"  
"Cut the dramatics, pal. It's not like I'm asking you to marry me, so what's   
the great deal?"  
"You're not going to ask me what I think about you, do you?"  
"What if I am?"  
"I'm not telling you!"  
"Come on, Andy, I can take it. We're friends, so it can't be that bad."  
"Don't you understand that I don't feel comfortable talking about that!"   
exploded Andrew, slamming his fists against the buffed surface and upsetting   
Darien's cup. Both watched spellbound as the cup fell onto the counter and   
its contents spilled onto Darien's lap. It's still searing contents.  
"Aiiiieee," howled the ebony-headed youth, springing from his stool to   
bounce around like a madman in an attempt to assuage the pain. "What is   
it with you? Have you finally gone bonkers?"  
"Look, man, I'm sorry..."  
"Damn right you're sorry!"  
"Why don't you go to the back room and change into my spare pants?"  
"When you're this unreasonable! I'd rather face a youma!"  
  
That said, Darien proceeded to unwittingly mirror Serena's movements from   
less than half an hour ago. He turned away from Andrew, and briskly crossed   
the space to the door, giving it a mighty shove. His exit, however, was   
hindered by a slender leg that tripped him and sent him tumbling onto the   
concrete of the sidewalk. Having barely intercepted his fall with his hands   
and kept his head from hitting the hard surface, he embarked on thanking   
the Savior, but his orisons were interrupted by a familiar whine.  
  
"You're on my leg," it informed plaintively, "and I'm guessing that you've   
also knocked me down with that door."  
  
He scrambled to his feet and sighed.  
  
"As cheesy as it sounds, we've got to stop meeting like that, Meatball   
Head," he announced wearily, holding out his hand, which she readily   
accepted.   
"You're telling me? I'm the one who always gets bruised!"  
"Anyway, what are you doing back here? I thought you were royally annoyed   
with the idiot I used to call my best buddy."  
"I came to apologize," she told, scuffing her tow. "I shouldn't have yelled   
at him."  
"I beg to differ, but then, you've never been a good judge of character,"   
threw Darien, already walking away. The last thing he needed was arguing with   
her, seeing as he was severely disadvantaged by the ugly stain on the front   
area of his trousers. Who knew what kind of awful nickname she could have   
come up with should she have noticed his predicament?  
  
*********************************************************************  
  
Serena entered the arcade to find its dejected manager slumped at his   
usual place. Poor Andy, she thought, he must be in need of consolation,   
having experienced discomfiture courtesy of the most proficient insult-wielder   
in the city. But why would Darien lash out at his best friend? Ah, well,   
guys will be guys, she gathered, setting her mind to the immediate task,   
albeit, apologizing cheering Andrew up.  
  
"Hi, Andrew," she nearly whispered, afraid he wouldn't talk to her. "I... I'm   
really sorry. I had no right to treat you that way."  
"Serena," he exclaimed, "boy am I glad to see you. I thought you'd never   
forgive me."  
"For what? For not upsetting me? For not saying what a klutz and a ditz   
I am? I should have thanked you for being gentle with me, not railed at   
you. I'm so sorry. It's not your fault that I'm not as good as I'd like   
to be."  
"Oh, Serena, don't you see? I don't think of you as a klutz and a ditz.   
But I won't tell you what exactly I think because I know you'll jump to   
all the wrong conclusions. All people tend to do that. You wouldn't have   
trusted me even if I were sincere!"  
"But I still want to know what people think of me!"  
"Hmm, I might just have the recipe."   
  
Andrew's head whipped up to reveal a devilish gleam in his eyes. His   
right hand shot to grab an empty ice-cream cone, which he held next to   
his lips. Then he tore off his apron, flung it in the direction of a   
nearby booth, occupied with several young girls, and climbed to kneel   
on the sterile counter.  
  
"Have you ever heard about that American singer, Sher?"  
  
Serena nodded her head indicating she didn't, and then all hell broke   
loose.  
  
"If ya wanna know if he loves you so it's in his kiss," sang the newly   
initiated pop-star in a high-pitched falsetto, swaying his hips and   
gesturing wildly with his free hand. "How 'bout the way he acts, oh, it   
can be a way, but you've gotta listen to the words I say, if you wanna   
know if he loves you so it's in his kiss. Oh, it's in his..."  
  
The offhanded show would have gone on had Serena not hauled its star off   
by his shirt collar, eliciting groans of protest and disappointment from   
both Andrew and the arcade patrons.  
  
"What on Earth do you mean?" she snarled, "that I have to kiss you, or   
whatever person I want to ask?"  
"No, you dope. You were not listening," he accused, discarding the   
microphone-hyphen-cone, "that one is the last resort. You may start with   
observing their actions towards you and other people."  
"Huh?"  
"Yea. Try observing their behavior, like a scientist."  
"But I'm not smart enough."  
"Allow me to demonstrate," enunciated Andrew with a flourish. "How do I   
act towards the visitors?"  
"Well, you always get their orders ASAP, you help kids play the games when   
you're free, and you always joke around."  
"And how do I act towards you?"  
"You listen to me. You listen, and you help me think my problems   
through."  
"Which means..."  
"That you're my friend, of course, what else could it mean?"  
"That I like you as a friend, in spite of the fact that you're a dope."  
"Thanks. You're a dope, too, you know."  
"I know."  
  
*********************************************************************  
  
Darien's anger had disappeared along with the coffee stains from his tailored   
trousers and the drops that had ended up on his cherished jacket. The ensuing   
rational consideration of the day's occurrences yielded quite a few interesting   
findings.   
  
Number one. Direct interrogation as a means of figuring out his actions   
and attitudes, which needed to be adjusted, was not as efficient as his   
yesternight ruminations had let him to believe. For some reason people   
didn't feel as comfortable discussing others in front of them as dissecting   
them behind the their backs, which proved quite a handicap of his quest to   
bring about positive changes of his personality. How was he supposed to change   
if he wasn't aware of what exactly it was about him that alienated people?  
  
Number two. Direct interrogations tended to vex one's already existing   
friends, which posed numerous threats to one's mental and physical   
well-being.   
  
Number three. The information he needed could be obtained through other   
means, active observation, for instance. According to his sociology   
textbooks, the method, while being more involved and time-consuming, might   
prove more accurate and objective, for the research population was unaware   
of the fact, that they were being studied, and thus unable to affect the   
results of the experiment.  
  
And the last but not the least, number four. Being irritated at other people   
seemed to facilitate being civil with the Meatball Head, which went against   
most of the existing theories on the effects of anger.  
  
*********************************************************************  
  
After the traditional family dinner, Serena excused herself from her   
parents and headed straight to her bedroom, bounding the stairs in record   
time to lock away all possible spies, both human and feline. Her further   
course of action required some serious preparation work, and if anybody   
were to witness that, her reputation would be ruined.  
  
Andrew had explained that observing several people was unproductive, as   
she might miss significant detailed, so she needed to choose the subject   
of her scrutiny. It had to be a friend, she decided, since she was well   
aware of how her enemies regarded her. But there were so many! First,   
there was Molly, but Serena didn't see her often enough to gather a   
sufficient amount of data. Then there were the scouts, two of who, Amy   
and Lita, spent most of the day with her, which meant they were the perfect   
targets. Lastly, there was Raye. The grouchy, scolding, putting-down,   
whose opinion seemed the most controversial. The reasons to decide against   
choosing her were less amount of available information and the fact that   
the priestess-to-be often acted as if she were an enemy.  
  
"Well, Raye it is then," muttered Serena, rising from the bed to open a   
new writing-pad and pen the name of her fiery friend on the top of the   
first page.  
  
*********************************************************************  
  
Lying in his bed later that night, Darien was still contemplating the idea   
to observe the behavior of his friends. Imagining the process, he realized   
that watching several people at once would be tricky, and that he needed   
to focus his energy on one person. But who would prove an ideal candidate?  
  
There were not many to pick from, Andrew and Raye being his main   
alternatives, and a few college acquaintances comprising the rest of the   
list. Raye or Andrew, Andrew or Raye, the coffee-spiller or the eyelash-batter,   
or would he be forced to spend more time at the campus? The choice was   
tough, so Darien elected to resort to the only foolproof means he had at   
his disposal. Throwing away the blanket, he got out of the bed to retrieve   
a small object from his desk.  
  
"Head for Raye, tails for Andrew," he called out into the darkness of the   
room. He tossed the object up and caught it between his palms, then moved   
the upper palm away to take a look.  
  
"Well, Raye it is then."  
  
*********************************************************************  
  
So, what adventures are in store for our fav couple when they're openly   
stalking the irritable Raye? Alas, you may never find out, unless your   
kind words spur me into continuing. 


End file.
